The Weight of Fire
by WillowDryad
Summary: For Jess Harper, fire is heavier than iron.


****Disclaimer: Jess Harper. Slim Sherman, Daisy Cooper, Mike Williams, and all the characters and situations in _Laramie_ belong to their copyright holders and not to me. ******I feel, at least in respect to Jess Harper, the situation is patently inequitable.**

**The Weight of Fire**

The flames raged and roared around him, leaping from beam to beam, devouring everything in their path and ravenous for more, ever and always more, soaring higher and higher and never satisfied. Brother to the fire, the smoke rolled up black and ominous, choking sight and breath and thought, but even then unable to muffle the screams. Get them out. He had to get them out.

It had begun not in flame but in darkness . . .

OOOOO

"Come out, Harper, before we burn you out!"

Jess woke in the pitch black of the sweltering July night. He could hear Dan and Trace in the room with him scrambling for their boots and pants. He felt around until he found his own and shoved them on. From the front room, there was the rattle of Pa's extra box of shells and the clatter when they were dumped out onto the table. Then there was the distinct click of those shells being loaded into the rifle.

Ma was with him, her voice low and grim. "You can't go out there. They'll cut you down."

Then Pa was loading his pistol.

"I'll tell 'em to clear off. You keep me covered."

"Luke, don't!" Ma cried.

Jess fumbled for a match to light the lamp, but Dan slapped it out of his hand.

"Do you want to give 'em something to shoot at?" He shoved Jess to his knees. "Stay low. Get the kids somewheres safe. Keep 'em down."

"I want a gun!"

"We ain't got any more," Trace hissed. "Just my iron and Dan's and Pa's."

"The rifle," Jess insisted.

"Ma's got that," Dan said.

"Pa's muzzle-loader. Over the fireplace. I could—"

"You could blow your own head off with that. It ain't been cleaned since before you's born!"

"I could—"

"Go on. See to Francie and the kids."

"Francie can see to 'em. I can—"

"You can stay down and shut up."

Jess found his shirt still hanging over the back of the chair where he'd left it. He slipped it on, not taking time to do up the buttons, and edged over to the window. There was only a sliver of moon, but he could see the glint of gun barrels out in the shadows. He couldn't tell how many, but there were certainly more of them than the four guns in the house. Then two or three of those crouching shadows moved low across the yard. A minute later, there was a sudden burst of light.

"We've fired your barn, Harper!" that same voice called as the flames shot up. "The house is next!"

"You got no call, Bannister!" Pa shouted. "We're just workin' shares here! We ain't—"

"We're burning down the whole place!" Bannister shouted back. "Leavin' nothing standing, yours or not!"

"Get out of here! I can see you now. You and your men. Back off!"

He fired as he spoke. There was the slap of a bullet hitting flesh and the thud of something heavy hitting the ground. Bannister's men returned fire, and then shrill screams came from inside the barn. The Texas summer'd been blistering hot, and now flames devoured the tinder-dry wood and lit the yard.

"The horses!" Jess cried, bolting toward the bedroom door.

Dan shoved him down again, blue eyes hard as ice. "You can't help 'em now! Bannister's men'll only pick you off!"

Jess gulped down a sob. The horses. But now wasn't the time to grieve over what couldn't be helped. He was fifteen. Too old to cry.

Dan squeezed his shoulder. "Pa'll get Bannister. Or me'n Trace will."

Trace's mouth was set in a hard line. "You an' Francie see to the kids, Jess."

"I can help," said a half-choked voice.

Jess turned to see Johnny standing at his elbow in his nightshirt, shivering in the heat.

"Get down," Jess told him, pushing him below the window. "Where's the little ones?"

"Francie's got 'em. Davy and Lissa both. I can help y'all, Jess!"

"You're only a kid. Go help Francie."

"I ain't but a year younger'n you."

Jess grabbed him by the arm. "You get over with her. If things get bad, you get hold of whatever weapon you can find and you use it, understand? You tell Francie that, too. Go on."

"Jess—"

"I mean it, Johnny. If they get one of us, another of us gotta take his gun and keep fighting. Now git!"

Johnny's chin quivered, but he gave Jess a stoic nod and darted back into the other bedroom. Jess looked again toward the window and saw his older brothers on either side of it, watching the yard. From the barn, apart from the crackle of the flames and the groans of falling beams, there was only silence.

"Harper!" Bannister shouted.

Pa's voice was low. "Stay back, Ruby."

"Luke," Ma pled.

"You come out, Harper!" Bannister barked. "Your house is next! Along with your woman and your kids!"

Pa's answer was five more rounds into the shadows.

After that, there was nothing. Then Bannister spoke again, this time in cold command.

"Burn 'em."

OOOOO

Mike sat shivering on the edge of Jess's bed.

He had jolted awake to the smell of burning and the crackle of flames and saw Slim and Jess in just their boots and britches running out to the barn and hollering for Aunt Daisy to keep the pump going and yelling at Mike to stay put. It seemed forever later when Slim had kicked open the front door carrying Jess, the choking smell of smoke rushing into the room with them. They were both covered with soot and grime, but Jess was limp and unmoving, bleeding from the side of his head and from some bad cuts in his shoulder and chest. One of his legs was hanging a funny way, and there was blood on his pant leg, too.

"Mike," Slim wheezed, "get his bed turned down."

Mike froze where he was, but Aunt Daisy hurried in behind them, sooty and wilted.

"Mike! Hurry now!"

She bustled toward the kitchen and her medical bag, and Mike ran to do as he'd been told. The moment the covers were turned back, Slim dropped Jess onto the bed.

"You stay here and help Miss Daisy look after him," he rasped, leaning over with his hands braced on his thighs. "I gotta finish getting that fire put out."

"But, Slim—"

Slim coughed deep and hard and then managed a faint smile that didn't get as far as his eyes. "When he comes around, you tell him we got all the horses out safe, even that palomino, and the fire's about out, too."

Mike had been glad of that, but he hadn't liked the way Slim looked when he smiled. It was like he wasn't really sure Jess was going to wake up at all. It was even worse when Slim put his hand on Jess's arm and just held it there for a second or two.

"Sorry, pard," he said, kinda quiet.

After that, he left, and Aunt Daisy came in. She washed Jess's face and looked at the cut on his head and the ones on his chest and shoulder. It took her a long time to get the bleeding to stop, especially on his shoulder.

"Aunt Daisy?" Mike asked after a little bit.

She was using her big dressmaking shears to cut from the bottom of the leg of Jess's jeans, the one with blood on it, up toward his knee, and she didn't look up. "Yes, Mike?"

"Why's he getting all purple looking?" Mike pointed at Jess's left side which was covered with darkening bruises. "He looks like somebody hit him. A lot."

"I'm afraid his ribs are broken." Aunt Daisy shook her head sadly. "I'm going to have to wait for Slim to help me bind them up."

"Can I help you, Aunt Daisy?"

"I wish you could, honey, but I don't think you're quite strong enough. Slim'll be in afterwhile."

"What's wrong with Jess's leg?"

"I'll have to look at it before I can say for sure. It's probably broken."

She went back to cutting Jess's pant leg and then opened it up. There was a deep, curved cut in Jess's swollen shin. It was surrounded by a nearly black bruise and bleeding a lot.

"Mike, go get me a bowl full of water. As cool as you can get it from the pump."

"Yes, ma'am."

Mike sprinted off and was back as quick as he could. Aunt Daisy had one of Jess's boots off by then, but not the one from his hurt leg.

"I'm going to have to have Slim help me with that one," she said, nodding toward Jess's still-booted foot as she dipped a cloth into the cool water Mike had just brought. "I don't want to hurt him any more than he already is."

She wrapped the wet cloth around Jess's leg and then she patted his cheek. That same worry was in her eyes that had been in Slim's.

Mike swallowed hard and had to make himself not cry. "Is he gonna die, Aunt Daisy?"

"He's hurt very badly, Mike, but we'll take care of him. He'll have to stay in bed for awhile until he's better."

"He won't like that."

She smiled a little then and gave him a hug. "No, he won't like that. But we'll see he does it all the same."

"Did he get burned in the fire?"

"No," she said. "Thank God, no, but Slim said one of the horses got scared when Jess was trying to get him out, that palomino Jess has been trying to gentle. He crushed Jess against the back wall of the barn and then kicked him pretty badly. I'm worried about how badly his head is hurt. Now you go and empty this bowl and put some more cool water in it. After that, I need you to go back to bed. Everything's fine now."

"But, Jess—"

"Jess needs me to sew him up as soon as possible. You don't want him to have to wait, do you?"

Mike shook his head. Jess still hadn't moved at all, and it probably wasn't good for his cuts to stay open so he'd bleed more. Mike hurried.

After he got the fresh water, Aunt Daisy had made him go to bed, and he had stayed there just listening. Every once in a while, he snuck over to the window and tried to see what Slim was doing, but everything by the barn was quiet and dark. Maybe the barn was burnt bad on the inside, but only one corner of the front, the corner away from the corral, was completely gone.

He laid down and pretended to be asleep when he heard Slim come back in. Slim cracked open his door, checking on him, and then he went to talk to Aunt Daisy. Mike could hear them in the other room. Aunt Daisy's voice was very low when she told Slim she was worried about how much blood Jess had lost and how bad his head was hurt. She said she had Jess all sewed up, but she needed help binding his ribs and setting his leg. Slim told her to give him just a minute to wash off some of the soot and he'd be right with her.

Mike hung on to his bedpost and wanted to cry hearing how bad it hurt Jess when they took off his boot and fixed his leg, but afterward everything was quiet. Slim told Aunt Daisy he was going to shower and put on clean clothes, and Aunt Daisy said she'd have something ready for him to eat and some coffee when he came back. Mike peeped out his door. Sure Slim was gone and Aunt Daisy was in the kitchen, he dashed from his room and into Jess's.

Jess was all bandaged up. He was cleaner now, too. His hair was still damp, and there was one dark lock that fell down on his forehead. The covers were pulled up past his waist, but Mike could tell his foot was propped up on a pillow underneath them. A curious touch through the blanket told him Jess's leg was splinted. He looked about as white as fresh milk.

From that time till now, Mike had wondered if Jess was ever going to move again. He had finally, carefully, climbed up onto the edge of the bed beside Jess and sat watching him, shivering to see him so still. He didn't even seem to breathe. After awhile, just to reassure himself, Mike reached out to pat Jess's unbandaged shoulder. He was surprised that it was hot.

He put the back of his hand against Jess's cheek like Aunt Daisy did with him when he was sick. Jess had a temperature. That wasn't good, Mike was sure. Jess ought to have some water.

Mike looked around the room and didn't see a glass or anything, but Aunt Daisy had left a clean-looking cloth at the foot of the bed. He dipped that into what was left in the bowl of water he'd brought her a little while ago and pressed the cloth to Jess's mouth.

"Jess?" he whispered, not wanting Slim or Aunt Daisy to know he was in here. "Jess, are you thirsty?"

Jess moved his lips, taking down a few drops of water, and made a noise low in his throat. After that he was still again. Mike stared at him for a while longer, wondering if he was going to do anything else, but he didn't. Finally, Mike curled up beside him, still watching him. He'd about dozed off, when Jess mumbled something he didn't understand.

"What'd you say?"

Jess said something else, but Mike couldn't make anything of it.

He sat up and patted Jess's face with the wet cloth. "Can I get you something, Jess?"

Jess was breathing funny, kind of in little uneven gasps, but he opened his eyes about halfway.

Mike patted his shoulder. "Hi, Jess. I'm glad you're awake now. Aunt Daisy—"

"What're you doin', li'l bit?" Jess's voice was weak and still hard to understand. "You can't be here."

"I was just—"

"'s all right." Jess smiled a little and hugged one arm around him. "Don't be afraid."

"I'm not afraid, Jess. You always take good care of me."

"Don't be afraid," Jess said again. "Pa and Dan and Trace and me'll run 'em off."

Mike didn't know those people, but he patted Jess's shoulder again. "I'm not afraid. I just wanted to make sure you're all right. Slim told me to tell you the fire in the barn is out and all the horses are fine."

"Horses are gone," Jess rasped, his voice half-choked now. "All gone now. Barn's gone, too. Flames all the way up to the sky." He grabbed Mike and shook him. "You gotta hide, Davy. Listen to me. You gotta be a man now. Promise me you'll look after Lissa."

Mike just looked at him, not knowing what to do. "All right, Jess. But who's—"

"I know Lissa's bigger'n you, but you see to her. Her and Francie both. They need you to protect 'em." Jess hugged Mike again and then looked around, his eyes suddenly wide and his breathing quick and shallow. "Go on! Get in there!" He shoved Mike into a heap on the floor. "Lock the door and don't come out till I come get you. Go on!"

He collapsed back onto the pillow, his head thrown back and his eyes closed again, beads of sweat on his face. He didn't move anymore.

Mike scrambled to his feet and patted Jess's limp hand, unable to keep from crying now. "Jess? Jess! Are you okay, Jess? Jess, please wake up again!"

"Mike?"

Slim hurried into the room, his hair still damp and his clean shirt clinging to his wet back. He pressed one hand to Jess's forehead, frowned, and then went to Mike.

"What happened? I heard something fall in here."

Mike bit his lip. He didn't want Jess to get in trouble.

"What happened?" Slim pressed.

"He didn't mean it. I know he didn't mean it. He told me I needed to hide, that I needed to lock the door and not come out. Then, well, he kinda pushed me off the bed, but I know he didn't mean it."

Slim put an arm around Mike's shoulders. "No, he didn't mean it. He doesn't know what he's saying because he's hurt so bad and has a fever. What else did he say to you?"

"He said lots of names I don't know, and he said the horses were all gone and the barn was burned down. I told him it wasn't, but I don't think he could hear me."

"Probably not, Mike. Sounds like he's thinking of some other time, a long time ago."

"Really?"

"Yeah. But I don't want you to worry about that. Daisy and I'll look after him."

"But I wanna—"

"Mike, time to get back in bed."

Aunt Daisy was at the door now, one hand outstretched.

Mike looked at Slim. "Aww—"

Slim ruffled his hair. "You go on. I'll see to Jess."

Mike put his hand on Jess's arm. "But what if he—"

"Mike," Slim said softly, pulling him into a hug. "We'll do everything we can to help Jess be all right. You say your prayers for him. That's how you can help him most."

Mike clung to him, sniffling a little, not caring if that made him a big baby. "I will, Slim. I promise."

"Okay then." Slim loosened his hold so he could look into Mike's eyes. "You go to sleep. Things'll be better in the morning."

Mike nodded. "Goodnight, Slim." He patted Jess's arm very carefully. "Goodnight, Jess. I hope you're better soon." He leaned down close to Jess's ear so he could whisper. "And I'm not afraid, Jess. You take real good care of me all the time."

Slim smiled a little. "Goodnight, Tiger."

Mike went to Aunt Daisy, and she put her arm around his shoulders.

"I'll see Mike gets to sleep, and then I'll come sit with Jess."

Slim shook his head. "You ought to rest, too, Daisy. You've had a rough night. I'll stay with him."

She looked at Mike and then uncertainly at Jess.

"He's out cold right now," Slim said. "If he needs anything I can't handle, I'll come get you. Fair enough?"

Finally she nodded. "Come on, Mike."

Mike let Aunt Daisy put him to bed, but he didn't go right to sleep. First he said his prayers.

OOOOO

Suddenly there was fire in the big oak that had been the place's only shade. It lit like a torch, filling the yard with leaping shadows and thick smoke, making it harder to see rather than easier. Jess clutched the old muzzle loader he'd snatched from over the fireplace, not sure what good it would do except to have something to hang onto. He didn't know where Ma and Pa were now, nor Dan nor Trace either. He needed to get out, to get the others out, but he knew Bannister's men were out there.

He peered out the bedroom window and saw someone rush up onto the porch, followed by a hail of bullets. Gripping the useless gun, he ran to the front door.

"Who's there?"

"It's Dan," came his oldest brother's low voice. "Jess, get 'em out. Get 'em all out. Get 'em into the woods. Hurry. Before it's too late."

There was gunfire everywhere, and he felt the hard thump of a bullet hitting the door and heard Dan's stifled cry.

"Dan!"

"Stay there, Jess!" Dan growled. "Stay down!"

Jess pulled open the door. Dan sagged against the doorframe, his pistol filling one hand, blood filling the other.

"Dan."

"Get the kids! Get 'em out! Out the back!"

Jess looked out to the yard. Pa was lying out there, still. Trace was bolting toward him, firing as he ran, and then he fell across Pa's legs and was still, too.

Jess looked all around, his heart running hard in his chest, his lungs fighting for enough air to breathe. "Ma?"

Dan grabbed Jess's shirt, his eyes fierce and full of tears, and he glanced over toward the corner of the porch. Ma was slumped there with the rifle in her hands, and the wall behind her was burning.

OOOOO

Slim winced and tried to stretch the kink out of his neck and shoulder. It was never comfortable sleeping in a chair, and he must have been doing just that for at least two or three hours now. The lamp beside the bed was turned down low, but it still gave enough light to show Jess's face, pale and lined with pain, and the bedclothes twisted up around him and damp with sweat. He was shifting and tossing, and his breathing was jerky. He'd inhale just slightly, as if he were trying to avoid breathing at all, and then exhale in several sharp little gasps. The sound made Slim feel guiltier than he already did. That palomino would have trampled him if Jess hadn't put himself in between them.

"I know those ribs must be hurting you, pard."

Slim pressed one hand above the bandage on his forehead and then drew it back. Jess was hotter than before. Much hotter. Slim dunked a clean cloth in the basin by the bed and wrung it out. Then he patted Jess's face with it. Jess tried to turn away.

Slim turned his face back, pressing the wet cloth to it again. "Easy now. This'll make you feel better."

After a minute or two, Jess was still, but those lines in his face didn't ease, and his jaw was clenched hard. Slim wondered if Daisy had any laudanum in her medical bag. But surely, if she did, she would have used it when she sewed up Jess's shoulder and chest and head and when they had set his leg.

Maybe Jess'd be more comfortable if his covers weren't all wadded up like they were. As carefully as he could, Slim tugged and pulled and untwisted until the bedclothes lay smooth over Jess's battered body. Now to try again to get him cool. He looked around and, not seeing a cup or a glass, went into the kitchen to get one along with a pitcher of cool water. When he came back into the bunk room, Jess's eyes were open and he was struggling to get out of bed.

"Here now." Slim put the pitcher and cup on the table and took hold of Jess's shoulders. "You just stay put. Nothin' you need to get up for now."

Jess shook his head, but he closed his eyes and didn't say anything. He merely let Slim lean him back against his pillows. Slim pressed two fingers to the side of his neck, just under his jaw, and felt the blood hammering hard in his veins.

"Just slow down there, Jess. Everything's all right."

"Got to," Jess murmured. " . . . too late?"

"You're not too late," Slim soothed. "Everything's taken care of. All you have to do is take it easy."

Jess nodded, sinking down into the pillows again, and once more his breath came in painful little hitches. After a minute or two watching him, Slim poured about half a cup of water and took it over to the bed. When he slipped his hand behind Jess's head to help him sit up a little, Jess flung his hands up, knocking the cup across the room, water and all. Eyes wild, he grabbed the front of Slim's shirt, twisting both hands into it, almost pulling him off his feet.

"Get down! Get down! You can't help 'em now." He slid one hand over, pressed it against Slim's side, and then stared into his empty palm. Then he started trying to drag Slim down again. "You're hit. We gotta get away. They're dead. Trace. Ma and Pa— Dan, get down! Dan!"

"I'm not hit, Jess." Slim grabbed his wrists as he struggled. "There's no blood. I'm all right."

Jess wasn't seeing him. He was seeing something miles and years away.

Slim couldn't help thinking back on one of those times when Jess meant to leave the ranch, not the first time and certainly not the last, when he'd thought everybody would be better off without him and his troubles, when he said how he'd lost his family and hadn't had anything like a home since, that maybe he wasn't meant to have one. This time he'd stood there with his head down and his back turned and talked about the Bannister gang and the hatred in him that burned hotter than the flames that had taken his home and most of his family, his mother and father and the others he couldn't save. Slim had held himself back from wrapping him in a bear hug as if he were Andy or Mike and letting him pour out all the pain and grief he'd carried inside for far too long.

Now he wished he had done it anyway, even if Jess had slugged him for daring to. Such a moment had never come again, and all this time since, Jess had fought the burning demons of his memories alone. Even the destruction of Frank Bannister and his gang nearly two years ago had given Jess no peace, not true peace. It hadn't taken away the belief that he could have saved at least some of those who died, that it had been some failing in himself that had caused their deaths.

What Slim knew of his harrowing nightmares had to be only a glimpse of what Jess truly suffered, of what he kept hidden behind a carefree smile or a combative scowl or cold-eyed fury, of what drove him sometimes to coffee and smokes and the open night sky rather than the sleep that was sometimes so elusive. Now it was all real to him again, as real as this night's fire in the barn had been.

"Dan, you gotta listen! Dan!"

Jess threw himself against Slim, as if he meant to tackle him to the ground, and his whole body jerked. Then he lifted his head, horrified tears in his eyes.

"No."

He touched the side of Slim's head, right at his temple, and then, lips quivering, he looked at his trembling fingers. With a low cry, he clutched Slim's shirt again as if he were trying to hold him up.

"Dan. You can't be—" He threw his arms around Slim, burying his face against his shoulder, grasping his shirt in the back now. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Jess, I'm not—"

"I shoulda helped you. I shoulda had your back."

"You did, Jess. You kept me from getting hurt, remember? You got hurt instead of me."

Jess was still for a moment, looking like he was trying to make sense out of everything. Then he shoved himself away, eyes wild once more. "Gotta get 'em out." The words poured out of him, desperate and almost incoherent. "Can't help you now, Danny, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Can't let them die, too. Gotta get 'em out."

"I'm all right," Slim said, keeping his voice low and calm, trying to get Jess to lie down again. "Everyone's all right, Jess. We're all right."

Jess only fought harder, angry now, frantic. "Let me go! Let me go! Gotta help 'em! Let me go!"

Slim held him there against his chest, pinning his arms to his sides as tight as he could without doing more damage to his ribs and his bruised back, not letting him kick his splinted leg out of the bed. He didn't want Jess to hurt himself more than he already was, but he was thrashing like a fish.

"There's nothing you can do now, Jess! You did all you could! There's nothing else you can do!"

Jess fought him still, his will stronger than his body, but Slim didn't release his hold.

"They're all right," Slim murmured over and over again as Jess struggled. "They're all okay now."

Finally Jess began to weaken, his words more and more slurred, and once more he twisted his hands into the back of Slim's shirt.

"Dan, gotta get—"

"Shh."

"They need me to—"

"They're all right now. There's nothing can hurt them anymore."

"Danny, please—"

"Let it go now, Jess. I didn't get hurt. You helped me. I'm all right." He held Jess's head against his shoulder, letting his own voice soften. "Let it go, brother. Let it go."

Finally the grip on the back of Slim's shirt slackened and Jess's breathing calmed. His arms fell limp beside him, and he was still. Slim settled him back in the bed again.

When he was sure Jess was out, he dropped into his chair once more and let out a slow, weary breath. What had Jess been carrying all these years? He reached over and clasped Jess's wrist, holding on hard.

"I'm here, pard," he said softly. "You can let it go now."

He leaned over a little, resting his arm on the bed, still holding onto Jess. With his free hand, he rubbed his eyes, suddenly exhausted.

"Slim?"

He looked up to see Daisy in her flowered wrapper at the bunk room door, sorrow and worry in her eyes, but she gave him a little smile.

"He's been having a hard time."

"Yeah. Pretty bad." He patted Jess's arm and then released it.

"I'll make some coffee and be right back."

"Thanks, Daisy. I'd like that."

As she promised, she came back in a few minutes with a pot of coffee and a cup, but she shook her head when he reached for it.

"The coffee is for me," she said firmly. "You need to sleep."

He looked immediately at Jess, but she shook her head again.

"He's worn out and so are you. Get some sleep." Her eyes warmed. "If he needs anything I can't handle, I'll come get you."

For a moment he didn't move, and then he stood up. "I'll be on the couch."

She slipped her arms around him as he passed her in the doorway. "I'll take care of him. Don't worry."

"I know you will, Daisy."

He kissed her forehead and went into the front room. It took only a moment for him to stretch out on the couch and pull a quilt over himself. It was nice to lay his whole body out flat, and he immediately felt the irresistible pull of sleep. But before he slept, he remembered what he'd told Mike and said a prayer for Jess.

OOOOO

Unable to hold him up anymore, Jess let Dan crumple down onto the porch. There was blood on his hand, blood from the hole in Dan's head. Ma's skirt was on fire now. The whole house was burning. The gunfire had pretty much stopped, though he knew if he let himself be seen, it would start again. He and the others, the ones who were left, they had the choice of taking a bullet or roasting alive. The smell of blood and charred flesh filled his nostrils, smoke and fire filled his lungs, and he called out for Davy and Lissa. Francie had to have gotten them out by now, them and Johnny.

He grabbed Dan's pistol and stuck it in his belt. Then he was knocked sideways when something hit him alongside his head, and he ducked back into the doorway. Blood ran into his eye, but he dashed it out with the back of his hand. He was going to shut the door and try to get out the back when he saw Francie, the grim picture of Ma all over again, and Johnny with no shoes, just britches under his nightshirt. They were hiding behind the water barrel at the end of the porch.

"I thought you were with the kids," he said low. "What are you doing? Where's Lissa and Davy?"

Francie just shook her head and Johnny hung onto her arm, his eyes fixed on Jess.

The front room was catching fire now. Jess had to do something.

"Take that."

He slid Dan's gun down to the end of the porch and then the muzzle-loader, too. Francie grabbed them up and passed the pistol to Johnny.

"Now get out," Jess hissed. "Go on. Get into the woods. Stay down. I'll get the little ones out, and we'll catch up. Go!"

Johnny clutched the pistol in both shaky hands. "Jess, let me—"

"Go! The fool thing's gonna blow up in your hands if it gets any hotter!"

The muzzle-loader under one arm, Francie dragged Johnny out into the darkness, drawing a few random shots from the shadows near the corral.

Not looking back at the bodies in the yard or the ones on the porch, Jess drew a hard breath and went back into the house, barring the door after himself. He had to get the little ones out before it was too late.

Something pounded at the front door, making him flinch and turn. There was someone at the window, a man with a hangdog face and eyes filled with laughter and the lust for death.

"You're the last, boy, and you can't help nobody."

It was Bannister. Jess knew that voice. Then he was gone, and the window was gone, and there was nothing but fire.

OOOOO

Daisy pressed her fingers against Jess's wrist, feeling the too-rapid beating of the blood in his veins and the heat that poured from his skin. She'd been watching him for over an hour, and only now had he begun to stir, turning his head from side to side, shifting fitfully in the bed, struggling to draw an easy breath and saying things too low and garbled for her to make sense of.

His thick lashes were black against his colorless cheeks, his soft mouth taut with pain. She brushed back the dark tangle of hair that had fallen over his too-warm brow and touched her lips there, just above the bandage.

"Shh," she whispered at the low moan that elicited, and she stroked his forehead again.

"Hurts," he murmured. "Hurts."

"I know it does," she soothed, caressing his cheek. "I know."

His breath came hard for a moment or two, and then his eyes opened, blue and lost and filled with anguish.

"Hurts," he breathed again, and he lifted his hands to her, the fingers limply curled. "Hurts bad, Ma."

His voice was faint, a boy's uncertain quaver.

"I know," she said again, taking comforting hold of both of his hands.

He cried out in pain, and she immediately let go.

"Jess. Jess, what is it?"

"Hurts," he sobbed, his eyes screwed shut now, allowing only a single tear to escape.

He curled his hands protectively against his bandaged chest, still holding them loose and limp as if they were incapable of grasping anything.

"Tried to open it." His breath was coming faster now. "Tried. The little ones. I knew they were in there hidin' like I told 'em to, but it was all on fire. So hot, that doorknob." He opened his eyes again and stared at his trembling hands. "H-held on anyway. Tried to turn it. Tried to pull it open. M'shirt was too thin. Didn't– Couldn't keep it from burning through."

Tears sprang to her eyes. What horrors was he remembering now?

"Hurt so bad, Ma, but I had to try."

"Jess," she whispered, stroking his cheek. "Jess, honey."

"I could hear 'em in there," he choked out. "In there where I sent 'em. I could hear Lissa screamin', and I hung on to that doorknob, but it wouldn't open." Those pain-filled blue eyes moved from his hands to her face. "And you were lyin' there in the corner of the porch, and Pa and Trace in the yard, and Dan— Dan's dead, too. And Lissa and little Davy. I tried— I tried, Ma. I tried."

"Shh, I know you did. Of course you did."

His lower lip trembled, and tears slipped from the corners of his eyes. "Ma. Please, Ma. I'm sorry."

"Jess," she murmured, her own tears falling. "Oh, Jess."

She leaned down to kiss his forehead again. Then she sat on the edge of the bed, and careful of his hands, she pulled him close, cradling him against her as the deep sobs shook him, kissing his temple and then his hair, murmuring the wordless comfort she would have given her own son in his last moments if she had been with him.

"You did all you could, honey," she whispered against his hot cheek. "You were brave. You were strong. Nobody could have done more."

She knew nothing about what had happened when he lost his family. It wasn't something he spoke of, surely nothing she'd ask him about, but she knew in her heart of hearts that what she had just told him was true.

He still sobbed against her, gasping out names she didn't know and words too garbled to understand. She merely held him there. Finally, his arms went around her, and he clung to her, pressing his wrists against her back, still not using his undamaged hands

"Don't— Don't hate me, Ma. I'm sorry. Forgive me." He looked up at her, desperate and pleading. "You were already dead. Johnny and Francie, they got away. All the others. I couldn't— I tried—"

"Jess." She pulled back from him, cupping his flushed face in both hands. "Jess, honey, listen to me. Listen."

He was still but for his shuddering breaths, his bewildered eyes fever-bright and his dark brows two up-curved lines of doubt and confusion.

"Jess." She looked at him steadily, her voice as calm and certain as she could make it. "Your ma knows. Your ma understands. Your ma forgives you. Your ma is so very, very proud of you."

He stared at her a moment more, swallowing hard, and his trembling lips turned up just a little on one side. Then the tears took him again and he crumpled to her shoulder.

"Love you, Ma." His voice cracked and broke. "Love you."

Her tears fell into the dark tumbled curls of his hair, and she held him there, close and sure, until his breathing smoothed and slowed and he was limp and heavy against her. Then she laid him back against the pillows and drew up the covers. Afterward, she touched a gentle kiss to his lips and then to the smooth palm of each of his hands.

"I love you, Jess."

OOOOO

The rain came with the dawn, sizzling in the still-smoldering wreckage of the house Jess had been born in, tears of heaven. He had none. He merely stood there, his burned hands bound with the singed strips of what was left of his thin shirt, Dan's pistol stuck in his belt again, and his dark curls plastered to his head with raindrops and sweat.

Francie stood by him, still clutching Pa's muzzle-loader, useless as it was, her face hard and grim and too old for a girl just sixteen. Johnny crouched beside them, his feet bare and blistered, crying into his nightshirt.

There were no bodies. Jess had somehow managed to fight his way through the fire and stumble into the woods. He'd huddled in the trees with his brother and sister, all that was left of his family, as Bannister and his men stood gloating over their handiwork, the roaring flames dancing in their eyes.

"Toss 'em on, boys!" Bannister had called to them as he stood over the two bodies in the yard. "Ain't nothin' to do with trash but burn it."

Jess had pulled that pistol then, though his hands could barely grip it. He'd pointed it at Bannister's head, his aim as sure and true as ever it had been, and he'd squeezed the trigger. It only clicked on an empty chamber. Dan had used the last of the ammunition.

Bannister had looked up then, his wary eyes narrowing as they scanned the dark trees. Jess had stayed still, frozen, praying Francie and Johnny would do the same, and then Bannister had laughed once more.

"Go ahead! Toss 'em on!"

Ma and Dan had already burned with the porch, little Davy and Lissa with the back bedroom. At Bannister's nod, two of those men had picked up Pa between 'em, one taking his legs, the other his arms, and they swung him in lazy arcs as the others counted.

"One! Two! Three! HO!"

And they'd flung him onto the fire, cheering at the thud of his body as it hit the last of the burning front wall. They'd done the same with Trace, hooting and laughing afterward and passing around a flask.

"Well done, boys," Bannister had told them, slapping one on the back. "Let's mount up."

Now Jess stood in the rain, watching the white smoke that rolled off the sodden ashes, wondering if Bannister and his men had slept well after their good night's work. Everywhere he could see, there was only death and destruction, even to the big house that had once sat shining on the hill above them.

"We'd best go," Francie said in an empty, gray voice. "There's nothing left to do."

"There's somethin'."

Jess didn't elaborate. Francie knew. She didn't argue. Johnny still wept.

"Come on." Jess helped him to his feet as gently as he could, trying his best to protect his raw hands. "We'll go over to Mrs. Finley's and see if she can't give us some clothes and things. Then I got to get you to Uncle Thad's. Him and Cinda'll look after you both while I see to things."

"But Jess," Johnny protested.

Jess silenced him with a look. There was no more to be said.

They made their painful way toward Mrs. Finley's place up on the rise. Before they got there, Jess took his last look back. _Pa. Ma. Dan and Trace. Lissa and Davy. I'm sorry. I let you die._

Then somehow he was looking at himself from some other place, looking at the trio of children who limped away from that fire and struggled up to the top of the rise, burned and lost and alone.

_They're only kids. There was nothing they could do against a full-growed man like Bannister and all his bunch. There was nothing _I_ could do. _

He looked at the boy Jess's burned hands and drenched clothes and the blood that still trickled from the crease alongside his head and mixed with the rain that dripped from his hair and ran down his neck. He saw the grim purpose in those icy blue eyes. He'd done all a boy could do, even to leaving what was left of his family and hunting after Bannister until the war came and changed the world. But Bannister was dead now. He'd finally seen that made right, even as many years as that had taken. Bannister had been to blame for all that death and destruction, not that fifteen-year-old boy. Not himself.

He heard a voice, a memory perhaps, sweet and tender. Perhaps it was his mother's voice. Only Ma would know.

"_You were brave. You were strong. Nobody could have done more."_

Then he watched that boy go over the rise, and finally, deep inside himself, he believed it. There was no more he could have done. No more he could do but let go.

OOOOO

Daisy put the coffee on the stove and then sat at the table, waiting for it to heat. She'd watched over Jess most of the night and nearly all of today. Now it was night again, and he just lay there, his lashes long and black against his porcelain-pale cheeks, his lips softly parted, his dark curls falling over a forehead that was smooth, no longer troubled with fear and grief. It was as if he'd passed through those flames at last and come out light and clean, an ethereal angel no longer bound to this world. He had always been full of motion and energy, teasing and laughing, sometimes angry, raw and wild, never still. Now he hardly seemed to breathe. It frightened her.

"He needs sleep to heal," she had assured Slim just moments ago, right before she left him at Jess's bedside, but she wasn't quite sure she believed herself. Jess hadn't moved since he'd huddled in her arms and told his ma he loved her. She didn't know how many times since then she had stood over him, watching the almost imperceptible rise and fall of his chest, or pressed her fingers to his wrist or throat to feel the slow, even beating of his blood, or held her hand close to his mouth, barely daring to hope she'd still feel the slight, warm rush of his breath.

Slim had gone for the doctor early that morning, but the doctor was out and all Slim could do was leave word for him to come the minute he could. Daisy knew there wasn't much a doctor could do that she couldn't anyway. The cuts in Jess's chest and shoulder were deep and feverish, but they would heal. So would the break in his leg. His temperature was already lessening. But that kick to the side of his head worried her. There had been a lot of bleeding and bruising, a lot of swelling. She didn't know if his skull was fractured, but the longer he stayed unconscious, the more likely it was that the injury was severe.

She rested her elbows on the table and then covered her eyes with both hands. She couldn't imagine the ranch without Jess. She didn't know what Mike and Slim would do without him. What she would do.

"Dear God," she whispered, "please bring him back to us. I'm not sorry that he's finally able to rest. I want him to have peace, Your peace, but at least when he was dreaming, when he was remembering, I knew he was fighting, I knew he was trying to find some way through. Now it seems he's just let go. Now—" She folded her arms on the table and lay her head on them, unable to hold back her sobs. "Please. I can't lose another son."

OOOOO

Slim stood at the bunk room window wishing there was even a breath of air stirring. At least it was night now, and the room was cooler. It didn't seem to matter anyway. Jess was only still. Even when Slim had lifted his head to try to get some water down him, he didn't move, didn't swallow until Slim rubbed his throat and made him. After that Slim had come to the window and looked out at what was left of the barn. He should have let it burn. It could be replaced, but Jess—

All day now, he hadn't been able to keep a tune out of his head, not the tune nor the words. It just kept running and running. _"As I walked out in the streets of Laredo, as I walked out in Laredo one day . . . "_

He didn't look back at the bed. Jess was going. He was fading away like October grass. Like a shadow in the winter sun.

"_I spied a young cowboy all wrapped in white linen, all wrapped in white linen and cold as the clay."_

No, that wasn't true. Jess wasn't cold, he was warm, too warm. He was breathing, even if it was hard to tell. His heartbeat was slow, but it was there.

"_I'm shot in the breast, and I know I must die."_

He didn't have to die. Why should he have to die? All he'd done was try to save those horses. All he'd done was try to save Slim. All he'd done was risk his own life like it wasn't worth the price of the paper to roll one cigarette.

"_I'm a young cowboy and I know I done wrong."_

"He didn't do wrong," Slim whispered to the clear night sky, but he knew that didn't mean anything when it came time for dying. Plenty of the innocent died anyway. Plenty of the guilty lived. God knew the right of it. Slim sure didn't. He only knew he wasn't ready to lose the best friend he'd ever had, the friend who was more than a brother to him.

"_I spied a young cowboy all wrapped in white linen . . . " _

"God, you can't let him die because of me," he pled, slumping to lean his forehead against the window frame. "You just can't. Please."

"Why don't you shut up and let folks sleep?"

Slim froze where he was. The voice was more gravelly than usual, rough with disuse and lack of water, but it was Jess. It was Jess.

It was only three long strides back to the side of the bed.

"Jess." Slim grabbed his hand, holding it in a strong grip. "Jess. Do you know me?"

Jess squinted at him. "You that lazy, tall drink of water runs a stage stop outta Laramie?"

Slim laughed aloud. "I do when I can get any help. Fellah I hired a while back doesn't want to do anything but lie in bed day and night."

Jess laughed a little, too, hardly making a sound, and then he licked his lips. "Got some coffee or somethin'?"

Slim grabbed the glass. "How about some water to start?"

He helped Jess lean up a little and let him drink. Then he heard Daisy from the front room.

"Slim, what are you—" She looked in the doorway, and then she pressed both hands to her mouth. "Jess. Oh, Jess." She came to the other side of the bed and cupped Jess's cheek in her hand. Then a troubled look came into her eyes. "Jess, do you know me?"

His eyebrows curved up. "Huh? Why wouldn't I know you, Daisy?" He looked at Slim. "What's been goin' on?"

Daisy kissed his forehead, blinking back tears. "Don't you worry about that. Don't you worry about anything. You're going to be all right."

He nodded and started to close his eyes again, but they immediately popped back open. "The fire. Where's Mike?"

"The fire's out," Slim assured him, not letting him sit up. "The horses are fine. Everything's fine. Mike's asleep."

Mike peeped around the doorframe and looked guiltily at Slim and Daisy. "I heard you talking. Can I come in?"

Jess managed a little bit of a smile. "You'd better, Tiger. And don't ask me if I know you."

Mike giggled and crawled up into bed next to him. "I'm glad you didn't go away, Jess. I was afraid you were going to."

"Aw, heck no, Tiger." Jess clumsily patted the hand that was next to his. "Ol' Hardrock there'd have to give me a boot to the backside to shove me outta here, and then I'd just camp out by the lake till he got tired of doing all the chores by himself and asked me back."

"Nothing doing," Slim said, finding it hard to pretend to be stern with a grin still plastered on his face. "You're not gonna go up there and fish and sleep all day. You're not getting out of work that easy."

"Dadgum," Jess muttered.

"How are you feeling?" Daisy asked, searching his face and laying her hand on his forehead.

"Just tired," he admitted. "Head hurts some." Then he smiled a little. "But you know, I feel good, too. Light somehow. Don't know what to call it. Like I don't weigh nothin'. Don't know why."

Daisy glanced at Slim. He thought maybe Jess was lightheaded from blood loss, but he could give her only a bewildered shrug in reply. Maybe she had felt the same thing he had, that Jess was fading. But maybe that hadn't been right. Maybe Jess hadn't been fading. Maybe he'd just been letting go of everything that had weighed him down.

"You're going to be fine," Daisy told Jess, stroking back his hair. "You're going to be just fine."

He caught her hand and held it against his cheek. "Thanks, Daisy."

His eyes slipped shut again, and she gently freed herself.

"All right, you two," she told Slim and Mike softly. "It's time we let Jess rest again."

"But I wanna sleep in here tonight," Mike pled. "Can't I please?"

"Not tonight, Mike," Daisy said. "Jess is still hurting, and he needs lots of quiet."

"Sometime soon, Tiger," Jess murmured, not opening his eyes. "Promise."

Mike hugged Jess's arm and then got off the bed. "Can I come see you in the morning?"

"You'd better. And you'd better bring me some breakfast, too, and not let this hayburner here eat it all."

"Hey!" Slim protested, and Jess chuckled sleepily.

Daisy took Mike by the hand. "I'll put him back to bed now," she said. "Slim, if you can get Jess to be good, I have a feeling there will be apple pie for supper."

"Apple pie?" Jess opened his eyes about halfway, and gave her his sweetest, most guileless smile. "I love you, Daisy. Did you know that?"

"Jess Harper, you behave yourself," she scolded, but she leaned down and kissed his forehead again and whispered, "I love you, too, honey. Now go to sleep."

Jess nestled down into the bed with a smug grin.

Slim scowled at him. "You always were her favorite."

"Course I am," Jess murmured, closing his eyes.

Still clasping Mike's hand, Daisy slipped her other arm around Slim's waist and hugged herself to him. "He's going to be all right now," she said softly. "I'm sure of it."

Slim leaned down to press a kiss to her hair. "Me, too."

He turned the lamp down low, and the three of them stood and watched as Jess's breathing slowed. And when he slept, his sleep was deep and pure and peaceful.

THE END

**Author's Note: In "Men of Defiance," Jess talks briefly about the fire he was in when he was fifteen. He says, "There were seven of us in my family. Only three of us came out of that house alive." We know one of those three was Jess, and another was his sister, Francie. Who the third was is never specifically stated in the series. For this story, I've decided "there were seven of us" means there were seven children plus their mother and father. Arguably, this could mean there were seven total, five children plus the parents, but I felt it was much more dramatic for Jess to lose four siblings rather than just two along with his mother and father. This is my very first Laramie story, so I hope you will let me know what you think.**


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